


Harbinger of Death

by eeyore9990



Series: Mating Games Weekly Entries [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Peter is his own warning, creeper!peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's no longer sixteen and weak, no longer called by the spirit of a dead man.  She is a powerful woman, a harbinger of death.</p><p>--</p><p>Written for Week 2 of the Mating Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harbinger of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Written for week 2 of [the Mating Games](http://mating-games.livejournal.com).
> 
> GO TEAM ALPHA!

There's something different about her bed. When she left this morning, it was neatly made and it's _still_ neatly made, but there's… something different. She doesn't know what it is, couldn't have described it to another living soul, but she knows, deep within her, in the place where the part of her that she doesn't like to acknowledge lives: _someone has been here._

When she dreams that night, she dreams of the forest, of running through it wearing only her skin. She dreams of eyes so blue they burn.

She dreams of white teeth and red, red blood.

 

\--

Lydia wakes with a gasp, clutches her sheets, catches her breath. She's no longer sixteen and weak, no longer called by the spirit of a dead man. She is a powerful woman, a harbinger of death. 

She holds her hands up, counts her fingers one by one. When the shaking subsides, she rolls over, buries her head in the pillow and breathes in the scent of the forest.

\--

She can feel it sometimes: a breath on the back of her neck; a laugh that sighs across the wind until she's not sure if she heard it or imagined it; the sharp edge of a claw trailing lightly over her flesh. She's being stalked by sensation, by goosebumps on her skin. She becomes so accustomed to the feeling of being watched, of being touched and tasted and _scented_ , that she no longer notices.

\--

Summer arrives, and with it, a heat that that adheres to her skin, makes her clothes hang too heavy upon her body. Her hair hangs limp and frazzled against her neck. She wears it up, sweeps it off her nape and into a loose knot. She feels the stares of her friends and ignores the way their eyes flash amber and red.

They're young and have such little control yet. But they'll learn. Just like she will.

\--

She sits and listens as the pack discuss strategies for defeating the demon that has arrived at their doorstep. It's become such an everyday occurrence that it doesn't stir her anymore, doesn't make her bite her lip in fear for herself or her friends. She just sits back, bored, waiting for the information to make her research easier.

There's a breath on the back of her neck, and after so long she no longer feels it, no longer flinches. She's been feeling the ghost of that touch for months.

There's a claw dragging along her skin, up her arm, over her shoulder, a teasing touch accompanied by the memory of a laugh. She doesn't shrug it off because it's not really there.

There are lips at her ear, murmuring against it, and that's new. She sits up, looks around, and sees him. Sees the man who'd created her nightmares. 

The man who introduced her to her power.

She looks down and notices the faint track of red where his claw brushed against her skin. She touches her neck and feels the damp residue of his breath. She lifts an eyebrow and stares at him; finally catches him staring back at her.

She smiles, and knows how it must look to him, to all of them who might be watching. It's an invitation wrapped in a dare, and she knows the instant he accepts it. His eyes flare blue and his teeth stretch his mouth.

When he comes to her that night, he smells of the forest and moves around her room with a familiarity that gives him away. She laughs and pulls him into her bed, riding him to exhaustion as her hair falls around them.

She should be angry at his duplicity, but of all of them, she knows him. She _knows_ him. His voice lived inside her too long for her to deny his presence in her life now. 

She is the harbinger of death, and he is the monster under her bed.

**Author's Note:**

> [Week 3 entries have been posted! Go read and enjoy!](http://mating-games.livejournal.com)


End file.
